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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27440977">afterwards</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowcosm/pseuds/meowcosm'>meowcosm</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Background Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Background Male Byleth, Caspar...doesn't, Complicated Relationships, Dedue takes "pity" on him, Destroying Childhood Memories, Hurt Some Comfort, Linhardt joins the Blue Lions, M/M, Platonic Relationships, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Prisoner of War</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:13:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,321</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27440977</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowcosm/pseuds/meowcosm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A few months into his year at Garreg Mach, Linhardt von Hevring transferred into the Blue Lions class. He'd hoped to get closer to Byleth, the strange ingenue of a professor. </p><p>Five years and a war passed before he was honest with himself about the consequences. </p><p>-</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Caspar von Bergliez &amp; Linhardt von Hevring, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro, Linhardt von Hevring &amp; Dedue Molinaro, Linhardt von Hevring/My Unit | Byleth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>afterwards</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is a slightly experimental fic with me, so pls bear with me if there are any errors!</p><p>it takes place in a blue lions timeline with some transfer students, inc. linhardt and not caspar. this fic isn't a critical piece on azure moon, or any other route, nor a polemic, it's just an exploration of linhardt's choices and caspar's.. well, you'll see. as such, please try and read it without that framing.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Linhardt is sure he’s never wanted <em>this</em>. </p><p> </p><p>He’s thought, time and time again, about the decisions that he’s made. He’d joined the Blue Lions house with no attention to, or affection for, its members or the Kingdom of Faerghus, but rather out of his near-pernicious interest in Byleth, who to his frustrations had been assigned away from the Black Eagles, yet was never far enough out of his sight to quell his imagination. At no point in his enrollment had he felt much regret for his decision. Rather, he had felt quite proud of his accomplishments- even if he had only made them in the field of inspiring letters from his father that brimmed with barely-concealed contempt. The depths of crestology had remained, broadly, out of his reach. </p><p> </p><p>He hadn’t been alone in that choice, and at the time, that had served to marginalize any guilt he felt around it. Petra and Bernadetta had accompanied him; the latter as a last-ditch attempt to avoid attendance at lessons (which Byleth had tolerated no more than Hanneman had), the former for reasons Linhardt could only guess at. Following them had been two of the Deer, those most touted to ascend from the commonfolk to knighthood, Ignatz and Leonie- the latter of whom Linhardt had found a reasonable and jovial character over the course of the war. </p><p> </p><p>She reminded him, slightly, of Caspar. Hardly as rampant, nor blinded- as he was- by the ecstasy of growing stronger. But there was little point in denying from whence he recognized her attitudes and her interests; he had already seen, and he could not soap his eyes with lye in vain hope of vanquishing the stain. </p><p> </p><p>His second vain justification was that he had never anticipated war. Which, if he indulged himself in fairness, was not a whole-cloth lie. The course of the year had been strange from the moment Byleth had shown up, like a cat sheltering from the rain, at Garreg Mach. Yet if there were ever a valuable lesson he had learnt as the eldest son of Adrestian nobility, Linhardt considered it to have been that of non-interference, and of silence, letting the worn and gentle hands of elderly servant-women guide him back into the darkness of his room. As away from the noises downstairs, equally likely to be conspiracy or revelry, as his father could keep him. Upon Flayn’s disappearance, Jeralt’s death and Edelgard’s absence- well, he’d done his research, but he’d never said a word to anyone but Byleth. </p><p> </p><p>That mistake, he could not reconcile.</p><p> </p><p> It was the one which placed him where he was. Caring, for the first time in his life, about how out-of-place he seemed by the side of the King of Faerghus. He’d been conscious of it- endlessly conscious, forgiving of the suspicions he was held under, almost <em>thankful</em> for how little of the rebuilding work he was trusted with. But he had thought little of it. It needn’t have occupied his time. </p><p> </p><p>But. Graduating Garreg Mach had not vanquished the tendency for things he ignored to come crashing down on him, even if there were no more tests to pass or class hours to attend. What he’d hoped beyond hope to avoid had come to fruition only days before-</p><p> </p><p>he’d seen Caspar. </p><p>He’d looked good. Nothing between them had ever progressed past a mawkish childhood crush; unreturned on Caspar’s part and quickly forgotten on Linhardt’s. And though Linhardt did not feel that spark resume, it was nonetheless apparent to him that Caspar had grown, much as he’d wished, since their last encounter. </p><p> </p><p><em>Years ago, that was</em>. He’d searched for Byleth in the months after his disappearance, but he was soon overtaken by hopelessness, and returned to a voluntary house arrest at the Hevring estate. In those interceding years, he’d seen neither hide nor hair of the man, only heard word of his ongoing military training. </p><p> </p><p>Linhardt supposes it’s luck, bad or good, that stopped them meeting on the battlefield prior to the penultimate confrontation. If it had happened too early, he might have had second thoughts. Several military campaigns in a row seemed to eliminate doubt rather reliably, however, and- well. By the time of Fort Merceus, it was too late. </p><p> </p><p>Not a word had gone exchanged between the two. Linhardt had been required to tail Dedue, as he oft-was, as neither of them had much mobility, and doing so allowed Linhardt to remain squarely in the position of healing and warding away magic users from the rear. The last sight he’d caught of his old companion was a mere moment of distraction; him, gazing up at the ramparts which loomed above the Faerghian army, to where a little thatch of the sky’s blue expanse was ever-so-imperceptibly different. </p><p> </p><p>The chill of Fhirdiad rains is deep, long and thick enough to resemble an Enbarr autumn barely days out of summer. Linhardt shivers when the warmer robe hanging off of his back slips away from him, bringing it to hang over his shoulders once more each time the bluster of the cathedral drafts makes it fall. A yawn lingers at the back of his throat- how anyone in Faerghus gets <em>anything</em> done in a climate like this, he’s not sure. </p><p> </p><p>The coronation is in an hour. He’s thankful that they’ve been allowed, finally, to sit on the pews of the hall in which Dimitri will be proclaimed king- they’d had to stand for ten minutes prior, and Linhardt had hated every second with such intensity that it had almost taken his mind off of its roiling guilt. Initially, he’d insisted on not coming- forgetting that in the eyes of most, attendance at such an event was an honour, rather than a chore. </p><p> </p><p>“You’ve made an invaluable contribution to our army, Linhardt.”<em> That </em>was what Dimitri had said, confronting him in private mere minutes before his bedtime. It had taken Linhardt a while to figure out that he wasn’t in trouble- Dimitri, one-eyed as he was and continued to be, was never easy to read.</p><p> </p><p>“I would be nothing but honoured to have you present in the campaign rows. Bernadetta and Petra have already agreed, so you shan’t find yourself isolated” </p><p> </p><p>He hadn’t liked it; nevertheless, that had sealed the deal. The last thing his research needed was him being branded as an unappreciative lout, or losing the King’s favour. </p><p> </p><p>He knows he could likely sneak out now, returning later for the event itself. But that itself feels like a terrible effort, his feet going slack and unwieldy beneath him at the thought of getting up. Instead, Linhardt brings himself back, in his mind, to Merceus. He closes his eyes; imagines it again, as if he could bring himself back, and find it in himself to do something, anything- </p><p> </p><p>“Eyes open.” </p><p> </p><p><em>Mother of the Goddess</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Linhardt doesn't bother opening his eyes. He recognises the voice well enough- the<em> last</em> person he wants to see. Let alone talk to.</p><p> </p><p>"What is there, exactly, to be watching?"</p><p> </p><p>Dedue snorts, as if Linhardt has just challenged him to a match of fisticuffs. Linhardt wonders, briefly, whether he's ever heard Dedue actually be <em>amused</em>.</p><p> </p><p>"The coronation of the king." Half statement of fact, half ridicule of Linhardt's great impatience regarding formalities. "You must know how to feign interest in these things."</p><p> </p><p><em>Interesting</em>, Linhardt ponders. <em>He's quite aware of my disinterest, then</em>. </p><p> </p><p>"It hasn't begun yet." Linhardt states, matter-of-factly. "I don't see why I should start."</p><p> </p><p>"Hmph."</p><p> </p><p>Though Linhardt can't see his face, he'll be damned if Dedue's expression isn't that of a frown. <em>Those</em> are his specialties. </p><p> </p><p>"If you are truly incapable of it, then step into the courtyard until the ceremony begins. At which point you will re-enter, and at which point you <em>will</em> smile."</p><p> </p><p>“It’s cold out there.” Linhardt protests, clutching his robe closer to his chest. </p><p> </p><p>A strong hand on his shoulder lets him know the game is up. </p><p> </p><p>“You’ll live.”</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>If his requisitioning to the exterior isn’t bad enough, it’s somehow worse that Dedue doesn’t seem to want to leave him alone. He’s been sitting on the bench closest to the ornate fountain centerpiece, eyes mostly closed, for what he’s sure is at least ten minutes. And yet, every time he lazily flicks his eyelids open to check if the sun has peeked out from under the clouds, the king’s retainer is still standing in the corner, looking mostly towards the flowerbeds and, occasionally, towards him. </p><p> </p><p>It’s not so much the <em>staring</em>, Linhardt thinks. He’s been surveilled before. Nobody had trusted him with so much as a butter-knife before he’d proven his loyalty in conflict against the Empire; even though he was much less likely to stab someone than to blast them into pieces with a relentless burst of magic. Rather, it’s the question of why. He finds it difficult to imagine that Dedue doesn’t have some more pressing duties, or that he has no interest in finding somewhere comfortable to sit for the duration of their silent, mutual wait. </p><p> </p><p>The fourth time he catches his unwilling bodyguard <em>looking</em>, Linhardt decides he has nothing to lose by asking. </p><p> </p><p>“Aren’t you cold?” </p><p> </p><p>It’s not a direct question; nevertheless, Linhardt hopes it’ll convey something to the effect of <em>yes, I know, you needn’t look at me like a hawk looks at a hare. I’m much too lazy to run away</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Dedue turns to look at him, from having inconspicuously diverted his eyes moments earlier. He blinks, languid and considerate. Linhardt isn’t sure how he’s supposed to take <em>that</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“You would certainly not enjoy it here in the winter. Or in Duscur, for that matter. Are you planning to return to your territory after this?” </p><p> </p><p>Linhardt shrugs. It’s the truth- he’s not sure. There’s nothing left for him in his family home- if his father is alive, he cannot imagine him being happy to watch the callous return of his son. Too much has changed for that- even bearing the name makes him uneasy, now. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m going to follow Byleth.”</p><p> </p><p>He’s done it before, and he’ll do it again. And from the understanding that fills Dedue’s gaze, he guesses that it at least <em>sounds </em>like a half-decent answer. </p><p> </p><p>“Very well. And if he brings you to the most frigid realms of Sreng?” </p><p> </p><p>Linhardt shrugs again. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll go with him.” </p><p> </p><p>Grinning, Dedue nods.</p><p> </p><p>“Very good.” </p><p> </p><p>An uneasy pause hangs between them; five minutes long, or about. It’s better than the last silent minutes, but certainly not Linhardt’s preferred method of communication. </p><p> </p><p>“Why are you out here?” he asks, finally landing at the conclusion that his last question hadn’t expressed his real question clearly enough.</p><p> </p><p>“So I can enter with the king. I am not permitted to enter the dressing room alongside him, but I am expected to walk into the cathedral in his stead. All there is for me to do is linger.” </p><p> </p><p>“Here, specifically? It’s rather cold. And I hardly make good company.” </p><p> </p><p>“As I am aware. I will be indoors for the rest of the day,” Dedue clarifies, “so I can attend all of the events afterwards. It is best to get myself fresh air while I can.” </p><p> </p><p><em>Right</em>. Linhardt knows<em> he’s</em> free to leave after the coronation. But it’s no surprise that Dedue has more to attend to. </p><p> </p><p>“Hm. That sounds awful.” </p><p> </p><p>Linhardt expects some admonishment, some lecture, to spill forth from Dedue’s mouth, no doubt enough to put him back to sleep. </p><p> </p><p>Instead, he laughs, amusement arising somewhere deep in his chest. </p><p> </p><p>“It will likely be awful. And very little of it will matter. But the people wish to see Dimitri- and so we will bring him to them.” </p><p> </p><p>“And then?” </p><p> </p><p>Linhardt watches as Dedue’s lips curl upwards, something clearly hanging on the edge of his tongue. A brief moment passes before he <em>understands</em>- before a lot of what Dedue has already said to him swells with deeper meaning. </p><p> </p><p><em>Dimitri has always been very protective of him. Which must mean that he trusts me, at least somewhat</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Linhardt doesn’t comment. Nevertheless, his expression shifts into a sly smile. </p><p> </p><p>“As far as I’m concerned, the less people see of me, the better. And the less people <em>I </em>have to see, come to think about it.”</p><p> </p><p>“With Byleth your exception, of course.”</p><p> </p><p>Exception? Yes. Linhardt hasn’t met anyone he’s wanted more than Byleth in his life. He’s sure of that, and a part of him knows he’ll be sure of it til’ the day he’s laid in the dark, damp earth.</p><p> </p><p><em>Sole</em> exception? </p><p> </p><p>He winces, wondering if Dedue can <em>tell</em> that something is off. </p><p> </p><p>“He’s not as overwhelming as most.” Caspar is- <em>was</em>- the overwhelming type, though. Linhardt supposes he was inoculated to his specific brand of mayhem young enough to never be bothered by it.</p><p> </p><p>“What about your friend from the academy? The blue-haired one?” </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><br/>Dedue remembers that?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“...I don’t think I ever had much to do with Felix.”</p><p> </p><p>Dedue frowns at him, an edge of disbelief clinging to the furrowing of his brows. </p><p> </p><p>And there it is. </p><p> </p><p>“You know who I’m talking about. <em>His</em> hair was much lighter. You and him seemed to get along just fine, despite his… <em>disposition</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” Linhardt’s voice brims with fake-surprise, entirely unsure of how convincing he sounds. “You’re talking about Caspar. Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>Dedue- <em>pauses</em>, like he’s thinking about something. Linhardt watches; half-sick to his stomach at the idea of Dedue revealing he’d downed him, out-of-sight, at Fort Merceus. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you know what happened to him?” </p><p> </p><p>He feels, still, like vomiting. </p><p> </p><p>“I- he joined the empire. Well.” Linhardt bites his tongue. “<em>I</em> joined the Kingdom. He stayed put.”</p><p> </p><p>One of Dedue’s eyebrows raises, aware that Linhardt must know more.</p><p> </p><p>“...The last I saw of him was at Fort Merceus. As a soldier, leading a battalion off to the side.”</p><p> </p><p>It drops. </p><p> </p><p><br/>“...My apologies.” Dedue mutters, hands wringing.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s dead. Isn’t he.”</p><p> </p><p>Whether or not he has one, Dedue doesn’t deign him with an answer. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you so much for reading! i'll hopefully be able to update this in the coming weeks, barring anything coming up (which... something certainly might.)</p><p>i'm @meowcosm on twitter.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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